Dear Lucas,

Today was your first day of school, the first day of first grade. It was an exciting day for all of us. You woke up and got dressed right away! You ate your breakfast without complaint! You were ready to head out the door before any of the rest of us! It was fantastic!

You posed for pictures without objecting. Your beautiful face shone with a quiet pride. You said things like, "Mom, aren’t you glad I passed kindergarten?" As if we ever had the slightest doubt about your abilities, your character, or your brilliance.

You jumped into the car without dilly-dallying. You marched down the steep hill to school, holding my hand the whole way. I loved it. You were nervous. We could tell. But you bravely strode on. You faced dozens of all-new experiences today with grace and dignity and courage. Your father and I are so, so proud of you.

You found your desk and cubby. You greeted old friends and new ones. You shook your new teacher’s hand as she welcomed you to your classroom. You were the last child in line to sit with your classmates at the assembly, sitting right on the edge of the row nearest us. We watched you while the administrator spoke, introduced the faculty, and welcomed all the students back to school. You patiently waited in your chair without much figeting—just a little nose picking.

We photographed you during the ceremony, sitting right beside your teacher and your buddies. You received a flower from a second grader, as is traditional. You then boldly took the hand of a high school senior you had never met before and allowed her to tour you around the school, showing you the classrooms, the play yards, and probably telling you that you are going to be happy here. I wondered if you would someday gently take the hand of a nervous first grader and tour him or her around the school, saying "Welcome. This is a good school. You’ll be fine here."

I didn’t cry. I didn’t feel sad to see my baby all grown up and ready for first grade. I did feel some overwhelming feelings, though. The strongest was pride in you, for you are a magnificent boy. The other feelings washing over me this morning were boundless joy to see you in a school where you will be loved, nurtured, respected for the person you are; fervent hope that you will grow and learn and love your school experiences and your friends; and profound gratitude that you are my son and have graced my life with your presence and love these last seven years.

Congratulations, my son. And welcome to first grade!

Love always,

Mama

The very last day of summer vacation is winding to a close. I couldn’t be happier about it.

I survived. I survived twelve weeks. In a row. It wasn’t easy.

• I have driven my son back and forth, crisscrossing Carmichael and Fair Oaks a hundred thousand times.
• I have facilitated swimming lessons, nature camp, and art camp.
• I have created and enabled a weekly playgroup with six of Lucas’s friends.
• I have pushed children on swings, filled kiddie pools, witnessed countless acts of 6- and 1-year-old bravery and daring.
• I have watched my baby learn to walk and protected him from his own reckless curiousity.
• I have attended family birthday parties and reunions.
• I have visited my elderly grandmother even though she is sometimes mean and makes my son uncomfortable.
• I have sewn tiny pants and crayon cases and a dolly and an alien puppet.
• I have refrained from major spending sprees.
• I have edited at least five books.
• I have drunk more vodka in the last twelve weeks than ever before.

First grade starts tomorrow morning. Tomorrow is the time to reflect on that perfect, beautiful moment when Lucas steps off into a new world.

Tonight, I’m grateful. I made it.

We’ve started taking Asher on walks, where he gets to actually walk. Obviously, we don’t go far. For the 18 millionth time, I am grateful to live on a dead-end street that ends at a schoolyard. Sometimes in the evenings after dinner, we all go out and wander our street a little. These are child-led outings. They aren’t for exercise. They aren’t for getting anywhere. We tag along after Asher and usually end up stuck in one spot, staring at a neighborhood cat or a dog behind a back gate. These walks are for picking up sticks or rocks. For staring at marching ants or spiders or beetles. For throwing liquidambar spikey balls. For practicing walking up and down a tiny curb. They are about hearing the slap of fat, leather-clad baby feet on the pavement and excited whooping when he sees something that interests him. 

Lucas thinks these walks are both silly and frustrating. After all, we hardly go anywhere at all, wandering about aimlessly, usually within a couple houses’ distance of our own home. Sometimes he takes off running to the stop sign at the top of the slight hill. Sometimes he runs headlong down to the school field, zipping past Asher so close and so fast the little one falls over. Asher is amazed by this show of big-kid prowess. He points and coos and giggles at his big brother’s antics … when he’s not staring at a bug, that is.

Today, Asher got his hat, went to the front door, and signed “go, go, go.” I had to remind him we needed clothes and shoes, too.

I need to find a way to turn my frown upside down. I have a hair trigger these days. I’m crabby with my kids. Ian wishes I would smile more. It doesn’t help that I’m insanely jealous of my nearest and dearest who are embarking on life-changing, mind-blowing, sexy adventures like Burning Man and world travel. Someday …

Things are definitely way better than they were a month ago. To outsiders, it might seem that very little has changed, but to me it definitely feels better. I’ve been getting more projects and earning more money. My trips to the gym are paying off in small but noticeable ways, not the least of which is that I’m enjoying my treadmill runs. It is good for my body and even better for my brain. 

I’m looking forward to school starting. Twelve weeks of summer vacation is exhausting. We have seven more days of vacation and then first grade starts for Lucas. Returning to a daily rhythm in which I have a little space/time to myself will be sooo good for me, and it will also be good for Lucas to have the daily companionship of his friends. They are as rambunctious as he. Asher and I are just not able to keep up with his 6-year-old fount of energy and constant blathering. His attitude is sometimes shitty and I find myself grouching at him all too often. 

Another bonus will be having more contact with other parents, some of whom I can be bitchy with and some of whom inspire me to be a better mom. A balance between venting and centering in my Now is what I hope to strike again. I have sorely missed my friend Kelly because she makes me feel so much better about what I’m doing with my life at present. She is one of those people who just looks into your soul, forgives you your faults, and tells you “There, there. It will all be fine.”  Also, the school has meetings, lectures, and various events that support and hold us as parents, so that we may better hold our children. I find participation has been helpful the last two years of Kindergarten. I hope it will continue to be so through the grades.

Asher will be going to the babysitters’ more often, starting next week, too, so I’ll have a little more space away from him as well. This will allow me to work and meet my deadlines, find new clients, operate as a professional with a brain instead of a mere milk-making machine. Hopefully, he’ll make a bunch of new friends closer to his age. He has become accustomed to going to Ring-A-Rosies two mornings a week. When I say, “Let’s go to school so you can play with your kids” he nods, smiles, and heads for the door, saying “Gg!” So I am optimistic that he will adjust well to four mornings per week. 

When I look at my present emotional health, or lack thereof, I am reminded of the time of year. I have observed over the years that late summer/early autumn is a time of big internal change. It’s a time of evaluating where I stand, tearing down constructs that no longer serve me, reviewing, revisioning, reinventing. It is a crazy time of upheaval. Skeletons walk beside me and I’m certain that everyone can see them as well as I. I have come to accept this as part of my own cycle, the turning of my own wheel of the year. It jibes with others’, but since it’s my own personal mythology that I ascribe to, that fact doesn’t really matter. I just expect earthquakes to shake everything out. I must simply embrace it and let the change wash over me. 

“You’re not only the best mommy in the world. You’re the best girl I’ve ever known.”

All other mamas gnash their teeth with jealousy.

It appears that Asher has a name for Lucas now: “Bobby.” I think it’s his approximation of “brother,” and it totally cracks me up. Lucas was hoping to be called “Bubba,” but it seems Asher has a different idea.

Also, Asher is now saying “Mommy” and “Daddy,” with very clear “ee” sounds at the end, in addition to “Mama” and “Dada.” We think he is saying “Gg!” for “go” and “Dd!” for “down.”

And so it begins.

Tomorrow is a big, big day for

dizzyburner 

, my darling husband. Tomorrow at noon he has to sit for an exam given by the Behavior Analysts Certification Board to get the upgrade of the BCABA (Board Certified Associate Behavior Analyst) certification that he already has. If he passes tomorrow, which he WILL DO, he will be a BCBA (Board Certified Behavior Analyst—are you dizzy yet?), which is a big deal in his line of work. He has been striving on this path a long, long time—about three years, I think. For more than two years he was taking online courses from two different universities, simultaneously pursuing a Master’s degree and this BCBA credential. Two Augusts ago he took the associate’s level exam and passed. Last February, he finished the Master’s degree. Without it, he wasn’t even allowed to take tomorrow’s test. He has studied a lot this month, and about 8 hours per day for the last week. I’ve done my best to keep the children occupied elsewhere and it worked pretty well. We’re all tired, but not as tired as Ian. His eyes are crossing and I can tell he’s bored to death with studying. By 4:00 p.m. tomorrow, it will all be over and done.

So if you friends have any spare cycles, despite all the packing and loading and driving and traveling and ready-making, please send some good vibes and good wishes to Ian. I’m pulling for him with all my love and faith in his brilliance.

Good luck, sweetheart!

That deadbeat publisher I worked for April through mid-June finally paid me. Actually, it happened a couple of weeks ago, and I was so excited to rush to the bank I forgot to post about it. 

It’s funny to realize how poorly I am wired for this type of scrapping. As soon as the money was in my account, I started thinking how silly it was of me to make such a fuss. I thought bullshit like, See? They were going to pay you all along. Now you’ve burned a bridge and you’re out a good client. But a client who thinks it’s OK to pay invoices at 96 days out is NOT a GOOD CLIENT. Somehow the $25 per hour that this deadbeat client eventually paid started to look good because lately I keep encountering companies that pay $11 or $17 per hour. Which sucks. But it’s weird inside my head sometimes. 

Since that time, I’ve tried to come to terms with what happened. I’ve thought about it a lot because deep down, I really want people to like me. Yesterday, I gathered my pluck and wrote to M. E. again because I don’t like the idea of burning bridges. She was only a cog in a big machine.

Dear M. E.,

SarabellaE

She wrote me back, too.

Dear SarabellaE,

 

I’m glad that whatever small help I was able to offer seems to have borne fruit!

My summer is going well — if swiftly — and i find myself, now, looking forward woth some eagerness to fall.

Hoping your summer has been a good one —

 

M. E.

I guess that’s probably about all the closure I’m going to get. Ian says I did the right thing by sticking up for myself and getting uppity. 

dakini_grl 

counseled me a lot during this time, and images of her T-shirt emblazoned with the slogan “Well-behaved women rarely make history” have flashed through my mind many times this summer.

foseelovechild

  has been inspiring, too. 

Thanks to everyone who gave me words of support and made harassing phone calls on my behalf.

Dear friends who are leaving for wide-open desert skies, Mexican beaches, Irish stages, and other faraway destinations,

Bon voyage! Enjoy! Suck the marrow of life 

… or whatever floats your boat. 

It’s an exciting time of transformation, explosive creativity, making connections, falling in love, losing one’s self, unraveling, tearing down walls, soaring desires, sexiness, celebration, community, dancing, building art, fire, peace, catharsis, and rock ‘n’ roll. 

I love you all. I’ll be thinking energizing, empowering, and hydrating thoughts for you over the next week and a half. I hope your adventures inspire you and fulfill your dearest wishes. Be your authentic, truest selves. Be careful when it counts and be daring as often as possible. For thine is the power and the glory.

Love always,
SarabellaE

I participated in the second sewing bee of my life today (the first one involved some 300 yards of white canvas, grommets, leather, and a ton of borax for a geodesic dome cover). Some of you know that my longtime motto was “I don’t sew.” Well, I guess it can’t be my motto anymore because I’ve done quite a lot of sewing this summer!

Today I met with four other moms from Lucas’s first-grade class. We have been tasked with sewing crayon cases. Yes. You read that right. Crayon cases. They are fabric cases with 32 little pockets for individual crayons to be stored in. The cases roll up and tie with a ribbon. They are meant, I think, not only for storage, but also to instill in the children some care and reverence for the super fancy, expensive, high-quality Stockmar crayons that Sacramento Waldorf School uses. Each child will get his/her own hand-made crayon case. Each child will learn to keep the crayons safe inside it.

There is a bunch of pedagogy and anthroposophy behind these crayon cases. I don’t pretend to understand it all, but it includes theories about color, emotion, form drawing, and child development. At first, the children will be given only some colors to use in their artwork and lessons. As they grow and become more sophisticated, they will be given more colors to use. 

These cases are blue corduroy with red ribbons for ties. They are being lovingly crafted from scratch by a handful of moms. They are a pain in the ass … labor-intensive. We need more helpers, frankly, because the time until the start of school is a mere two weeks. I’ll post pictures when I have something to show. At this point, I don’t even have one completed yet. Yikes!